The Queen of Cups
by Widu
Summary: Isabela visits Hawke, who is still recovering from his injuries after battling the Arishok. He coaxes a story out of her that is suspiciously lacking in the bull**** department. Some language; it's Isabela, after all.


Author's note: One paragraph is taken directly from the game. I haven't written it, it's not mine, it's BioWare's and I have the right to remain silent :)

It does, however, convey the message I needed, and I thought it to fit it into this story rather than have Isabela randomly say it during cards at the Hanged Man.

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><p><strong>The Queen of Cups<strong>

These days his room is downstairs; when they carried him home after the battle, the dwarves were about to take him to his bed on the second floor, but his resident healer would have none of it. Eventually Bodahn and Sandal made him a bed in an anteroom instead.

Gaelen Hawke still hurts all over. Entrusted to Anders' care he's mending slowly, but he's been warned – even outrightly threatened – not to rush anything. The worst of his injuries have been healed magically, leaving Anders like a wrung-out towel. Even he has rarely seen such a mess of broken bones, gaping wounds and impressive bruises. But he's done well. With most of the fractures healed, they need some rest to set properly, and Hawke has been in no shape put up a fight.

Isabela lets herself into the mansion the usual way. She ignores Bodahn's protests and saunters unperturbed into the Champion of Kirkwall's new bedroom. He greets her and winces as he tries to put his shirt back on before he gives up and tosses it into a corner. The pain of the sudden movement drains the colour from his face, drawing an exasperated sigh from Anders. Isabela winks at him. "I recommend a good spanking." The mage smirks while the visitor looks Hawke up and down.

"You know, you look like you've been buggered by a rock wraith," she says conversationally.

He groans. "Oh, thanks for that image!"

She graces him with a mock bow. "That's me. I aim to please."

"I'll just give you two a moment alone," Anders says dryly. Before the door closes behind him he sticks his head around it. "And Maker help me, if you undo any more of my hard work I'll bloody well follow her advice."

Isabela pulls up a chair. "Varric and Merrill told me he's taking good care of you." She waggles her eyebrows. "I bet he is."

"Andraste's tits, Isabela!" he moans. "Give your imagination a rest, I'm in no condition to-"

"Knock boots?" she suggests. "Give the mabari a bone? Do the horizontal mambo? Make the dragon with two backs? Hide the sausage? Play the eight-legged aardvark?"

"Play the...? What in the name of the Black City is an aardvark?"

She suddenly looks uncomfortable. "You probably expected me earlier, but I couldn't think of anything to say."

Hawke smiles. "You're here now."

She looks down on him with an odd expression on her face. He has never seen her shed a tear, but if such a thing were possible...

"I've never been happier to see you than when you walked into the Viscount's Keep with that tome," he says mildly.

"It may have been the right thing, but it was also the dumb thing," she scoffs. "The relic was mine, I should have kept running. You could have stormed the keep and slaughtered all those qunari if you had to. You and Aveline. I mean, look at her, she's a woman-shaped battering ram! Fact is, you and I have nothing in common anymore. You're a Champion, and I'm just a lying, thieving snake."

He leans back in his pillows and looks at her sharply. "You came back. You're my friend. Don't talk about my friends like that." His expression softens somewhat. "Besides, I'm a Champion and a gentleman. How could I not have myself beaten black and blue in the stead of a lady?"

"Any time now I'm going to hit you!"

He chuckles, and flinches at the stab of pain in his ribs. "You sure know how to deliver a thank you."

"It wasn't a thank you, you cheeky bastard. I didn't want to see you beaten within an inch of your life for _my_ sake!"

"If I could have floored that big son of a bitch before that happened I would have, trust me."

She looks sheepish for a moment. "Yes, there's that. Anyway." She clears her throat. "You... you know I have your back, right?"

"Right."

"So... what now?" She looks around the room. "Any good drinks here?"

"You really do want me spanked, don't you?"

She grins wickedly. "Of course I do. But failing that, what do _you_ want? It must be terribly boring, lying here like this. Anything I can get you?"

He gives this some thought. "Very well. There is a story I want to hear. I know now how you lost your ship, but how did you get it? _Captain_ Isabela?"

There is a dangerous glint in her eyes. She hesitates, then makes up her mind. "Alright. I owe you. But I won't ever tell you again, not even if you fall asleep."

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><p>I was not yet a woman grown when I married. Yes, married. I was at an age where I was just discovering some parts of my body were good for more than just eating stale bread and pissing, but I had never held a cutlass, much less a man or woman. Not the interesting bits at least.<p>

Llomerryn is a place that would give our dear Aveline a fit of sheer outrage. It is a place of raiders, of markets, a place where the wrong word can get you killed, or the right word whispered in the right ear can get someone else killed. They say that 'any man can get his heart's desire – for the right price.'

That certainly turned out true enough for my husband. I'd gone with my mother to the market in Llomerryn like a good daughter. She was looking for a new she-goat because the old one had died of some filthy sheep's disease. That's where he saw me, a girl who hadn't even reached her full height, but already with... talents that caught the eye of merchants and raiders alike. He decided he had to have me.

My mother got her goat and a handful of shiny gold coins in exhange for my hand, though I'm sure my hand was not what he was interested in at the time. My mother probably hadn't seen so much coin in one place in her whole life, which may explain why she didn't even try to haggle over the price. It was laughable, even for a girl with no special skills of note.

He was a smuggler and a raider, captain of the _Siren's Call_. She was a fine ship, completely undeserving of the worthless man who sailed her, although his crew was loyal enough to him. And for good reason from where they were. He paid them well, he was decent with a blade and had a sharp eye for business.

I had no high expectations from him, so there was little in the way of disappointment. He took his pleasure and if he gave me any it was probably by accident, for he gave me all the attention one would give a privy. I have never known if he wanted me to bear him any children. I didn't wait to find out; there are precautions a girl can take, and I'd spent the night before he wed me well.

Life at sea quickly became meat and drink to me. Idle hands on a ship are useless, so I became as much of a sailor as a captain's wife. And I fell in love. The taste of the salt spray, the sound of lapping waves, the starry sky at night and the far horizon by day. Best of all was riding the storms, there is no feeling quite like it. And the sea loved me right back.

I also learned how to fight. At first the idea less than thrilled my lord husband, since he always said I had to to look as pretty as possible and keep my mouth shut unless he wanted it put to use. Not that he didn't take some sort of perverted pleasure in my sharp tongue.

All that changed when he discovered I took to swordplay, and he showed me off like he'd made me himself. When his men were out on shore leave, we'd often go to taverns and made a lot of easy profit. It earned me a couple of nicks when I first started out, but shaking down other raiders betting against me was just too much fun. The ensuing bar fights were a reward after a hard night's work, and the same went for drinking the other half of the poor brutes under the table.

Like the captain we all had our women, and I also had my men. Of course the hypocritical sea slug was furious whenever he found me out, but except for the impressive tantrums there was little enough for him to do about it. He wasn't willing to lose his plaything, and I always wanted to cut off his balls but for some reason couln't be bothered.

In the end I was saved the trouble. Zevran Arainai was one of the famous Antivan Crows, although I wasn't aware at the time he had a contract on my dear sweet husband. Those whiskey-hued eyes, the sexy Antivan accent, the intricate tattoos... he had them everywhere. He was tall too, for an elf. And gifted, even if he did take the moments he wasn't showing off those Antivan brothel skills of his to arrange the assassination. Thankfully he took his time to do so.

It was a quick kill, if not a very clean one. Zev always had a flair for drama. Why settle for the chest when you can stab someone in the head? At least he helped me clean up the mess, and we generously celebrated the completion of his assignment afterwards. I even missed him a little when he skipped off back to Antiva without as much as a warning.

So I became captain of the _Siren's Call_ and swore never to be tied down again, not by anything or anyone. Many tried of course, for various reasons and if those were the wrong ones they usually ended up the worse for wear. If there was ever 'one that got away' – well, with all his limbs attached, that is – it was the man I fell in love with not long after I inherited the ship.

He could have had any girl, with a body like that and eyes the colour of the ocean on a clear summer day. He should have known better than asking me to marry him. I broke his heart and fled, and it destroyed him. Apparently he developed a habit of drinking swill that would curl the toes of an abomination and one day decided to go look for me.

He did by way of taking off in a skiff dead drunk in the middle of a squall. They never found him. It was the stupidest thing I ever heard. Still, whenever I get hold of a glass of Dairsmuid Single Malt I always drink to the rich, smoky flavour of foolishness and the deep colour of the ocean on a clear summer day.

* * *

><p>Hawke eyes his friend curiously. "Really Isabela, you're not half the sea monster you pretend to be."<p>

"Tell the whole damned world, why don't you?" She pats his shoulder. "Get your rest, Hawke. Between the two of us Varric and I are tired of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man without you. It's just dull. Speaking of the Hanged Man, can I use your bath? It's much bigger than that soup bowl there."

"Go ahead. But please lock the door this time. We nearly had to resuscitate Bodahn."

She ruffles his hair. "Oh, you never let me have any fun. Pity. Tell me we can at least share Anders when you get well. I'm sure he wouldn't object, for old times' sake."

The wistful expression on her face has surrendered to a more common smirk, and she has left with her usual swagger by the time his pillow hits the door.


End file.
